


"It Reminded Me of You"

by impulse_baker



Series: 100 Ways to Say 'I Love You' [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is so patient, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Pining, gifting a book is so thoughtful, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 09:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulse_baker/pseuds/impulse_baker
Summary: Dean finds a book of poetry by E.E. Cummings. Maybe it'll help him say all the things he doesn't know how to say to his angel.





	"It Reminded Me of You"

Dean could put up with a lot for the sake of a case. He could put on a nice cashmere cardigan that felt luxurious against his neck and collar. He could tolerate having to be Agent Plant when he _really_ wanted to be Agent Page. He could sit, listening to the ramblings of seniors who have long since lost their marbles and will to live. But tailing a suspected ghoul through an old stuffy, dusty antique shop that has walls lined with creepy glass dolls with unmoving eyes that still somehow seem to follow you, pushes his boundaries of what he can just accept.

The guy turns out to be human. (Un)Fortunately. So now he is just standing in this creepy shop, bummed that this case is going to take much longer than it would have if this was their guy. He shoots a quick text to Sam, who is at the morgue investigating the snatched bodies. He considers getting a bite to eat with his brother before they continue their search elsewhere and start interviewing more people, but he gets a text from Sam telling him to sit tight for minute because he may need to talk to the shop owner. _Of course._ Dean thinks. _You can’t own a place this creepy and not be suspect of the weird shit that happens._

He starts perusing some of the shelves for any supernatural related texts. They had been known to find a few hidden gems in dumps like these. The current row of spines in front of him were all leather or hardback. There didn’t seem to be any discernable order to the shelving.

_Astapor Unearthed_

_Fleshcrawlers: Misunderstood and Misrepresented_

“What the hell…” Dean muttered to himself. Where did this guy get these books?

_So You Want to Start a Cult? Intermediate level guide_

_Covens of South East Asia_

_What If You Are A Horse Trapped In A Human Body_

Dean laughed aloud, earning a scowl from another shopper.

_Anthology of E.E. Cummings_

This caught his eye just because of its sheer normalcy. He had heard the name of the author a few times but had never actually read anything by him. He pulled it from its place where it was shelved and ran the calloused pads of his fingers over the dark olive leathery cover. The title was imprinted in metallic silver lettering on the front and what seemed to be vines were embossed on either side of the capitalized words. He flipped it open to a random page and scanned the poem. He got to the end and blinked several times. _Damn dust._ He tried rereading it again, closely this time.

_pity this busy monster, manunkind,_

_not. Progress is a comfortable disease:_

_your victim (death and life safely beyond)_

_plays with the bigness of his littleness_

_\--- electrons deify one razorblade_

_into a mountainrange; lenses extend_

_unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish_

_returns on its unself._

_A world of made_

_is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh_

_and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this_

_fine specimen of hypermagical_

_ultraomnipotence. We doctors know_

_a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell_

_of a good universe next door; let's go_

 

He didn’t know what to think of it. He knew that was actually a lie. He knew exactly what he thought of it and what it reminded him of and rather _who_ it made him think of. But that was a can of worms he couldn’t open up, especially on a case. He thumbed through a few more of the pages. This Cummings guy really liked to break all the rules. His use of syntax and punctuation was very cavalier. Some of the poems were written in such a way that the words were scattered about the page and in some cases, the words were arranged in a certain shape. _He made it up as he went along._ _Just like this guy._ He looked for a price tag somewhere but there was none. Maybe he could negotiate for a lower cost if this was some priceless copy, but he definitely wanted it. Just because.

 He must have been standing there reading for much longer than he realized because Sam was next to him in the next moment, telling him follow his lead. Turns out the shop keeper’s _assistant_ was their guy. They were quick about it, taking him to a store room to “talk”. Springing into action when he tried to attack and finishing him off. Clean up wouldn’t be too much of a problem. The head came off in one clean cut. The shopkeeper wasn’t too moved by the news and let Dean walk out without paying for the book. Sam shot him a questioning look but he just stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat.

 

 

They found Cas sitting in the Map Room with Kevin hunched over something on the table.

“Don’t you guys ever get bored of translating old manuscripts?” Dean laughed.

Both angel and prophet looked up at the two hunters.

“Actually, Dean, I was showing Kevin how to play ‘Axis and Allies’.”

Neither brother knew what to say in response.

“I didn’t play a lot of games growing up. Stanford doesn’t give full rides for being able to win at Sorry. And Metatron’s brain dump apparently included how to play board games.” Kevin explained, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Well I’m going to make some dinner. After we eat I’ll kick all your Axis asses. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Kevin, just because you’re a rookie. I _did_ kill Hitler after all.”

He pretended not to hear the groans and _‘he’s never going to let go of that’_ s as he went to the kitchen.

 

Turns out being as old as time and serving as a commander for an angel army for eons gives you an edge in certain board games. Castiel and Kevin wiped the floor with Sam and Dean. _You’re not supposed to want the Nazis to win, Cas._ Dean would grumble every time he and Kevin made some significant progress.

When the game was over and Dean’s ego was properly deflated, Sam and Kevin each declared they were turning in for the night. As usual, Dean and Cas lingered, as if waiting for the other to ask to continue spending time together. They did this little dance often. They’d find an excuse to prevent the night from ending. They would sometimes read together in one of their rooms, maybe they’d watch a movie, sometimes just sit and share a pot of coffee between them while they talked. Tonight, Dean knew what he wanted to do. That, and he knew what he was _actually_ going to do.

“Hey I uhh…I got you something. Give me a minute.” He jogged down to his room and returned with the book he bought earlier in the day. He reclaimed his seat, not so subtly scooting it closer to Cas when he sat down.

“It reminded me of you.” Dean said softly, making his offering with his eyes averted. There were too many things he was afraid he would see staring back at him in soft shades of blue. Things he wasn’t ready to confront yet. Cas wouldn’t say anything, of course. He was full of these unending mercies on Dean. But they would both likely know they were there.

“Thank you. This is one of the most meaningful things I have ever received.”

They sat there, heads huddled together over the small book, reading the poems together, letting time pass them by unnoticed. Dean had never been so charmed by the soft rustling of pages as when Castiel intently turned them with all the tenderness that no one afforded any gifts they were given. The smell of an old book never settled so nicely around him as when it complemented Cas’ natural smell of rain and frost tipped grass that Dean’s brain associated with _home_. The words somehow carried even more weight when Castiel’s gentle baritone would recite them aloud.

They got to the first poem that Dean had read. Castiel read it. After the third time he looked up and Dean saw what he saw every time they shared their form of intimacy like this. He was sure the same things were written clear on his face for the angel to read. If he was going to say anything, this would have been the moment.

                But he wasn’t brave enough yet. He knew the words, but he didn’t know how to say them. And so Castiel’s patience was bid to last just another night. They both knew he didn’t mind though.

Maybe the next book he bought Cas would lend Dean the courage to finally say something.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've never read anything by E.E. Cummings, you should. He is one of my favorite poets and I will probably mention another one (or more) of his works throughout this series.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Next work: "No, No, It's My Treat."


End file.
